by Sarah Webb
Miss Cheng says, “Of course.” Then she asks where we would like to begin our tour of the orphanage. “Will we start with where the girls used to sleep?” she suggests. “And then I’ll show you the rest, the classrooms and the canteen.”
We follow Miss Cheng into a building on the right. The hallway is bright and airy, with white tiles on the floor. It is familiar – but it’s the smell of damp washing mixed with flowery air freshener that makes me catch my breath and my heart beat faster.
Miss Cheng leads the way up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. Dad and Min are right behind her, me and Mum bringing up the rear. I can feel Mum’s eyes on me, so I give her a tiny smile, which she returns.
“The children are resting right now, so we should be quiet,” Miss Cheng says, then shows us into a large, white, open room with a whirring ceiling fan above us. There are toddlers in the neat row of cots with metal bars. Some are taking a nap and others are standing up. One of them reaches out her hands when she spots us, just like in my sketch.
I feel as if I’ve left all my emotions back in the car. I run my fingers over the bars of one of the empty cots. It’s so hot in here the metal is warm to the touch. Little Bird is never hot, even in the summer. It took me ages to get used to it, but now I miss the cool air and the gentle breezes.
“So this is where the girls would have slept?” Dad says.
“Min Yen was two when she came to us – is that correct?” Miss Cheng asks.
Dad says, “Yes, that’s right. She’d just turned four when we adopted her.”
“This is the sleeping area for children up to the age of four,” Miss Cheng says. “Min Yen would have slept here to start with, but not Soon Yi. There are different rooms for different ages. Babies, younger children, older children.”
“So they were separated?” Mum asks. She sounds surprised.
Miss Cheng nods. “Yes, they would have been separated as soon as they arrived in the orphanage. Unless the siblings are a similar age – it’s the policy here.”
“I see,” Mum says. She and Dad exchange a look.
We visit my old room next, which has small metal beds instead of cots and a view of the trees outside. It hasn’t changed much from how I remember it. The walls are still the same creamy colour, but now there are posters over every bed – pictures of animals, Harry Potter, and Pokémon and manga characters. Then we visit a playroom, which has toys in plastic boxes, small tables and chairs, a bookshelf and art materials. There are drawings on the walls and I remember that I used to sit at one of the little tables, drawing pictures, mainly of Min and Puggy. The children in the room look up at us curiously. I remember staring at visitors in just the same way. I used to wonder if they were coming for one of us. Were they someone’s new family? I was only six when I arrived, but some of my friends in the orphanage were older and they explained how the system worked – how some children were adopted and others weren’t.
We all watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in here together once. It was dubbed into Cantonese. When Charlie won the golden ticket, one of the boys jumped to his feet and said, “A new family, that’s the golden ticket I’d like to win.” We all laughed. But he was right. Every child in the orphanage dreamed of finding a new family.
After the playroom, Miss Cheng takes us to the large canteen, which smells so strongly of cooked vegetables that Min wrinkles up her nose until Mum nudges her to stop. “Don’t be rude, Min,” she whispers.
As we walk out of the canteen, Min drops back to talk to me. She lets Mum and Dad walk on a few steps with Miss Cheng before she says, “The crying babies from my dreams, the ones in the cots – this is where they come from.”
I nod.
“Sunny, were we happy here?” she asks softly.
I don’t know what to say. Is she ready to hear everything – the happy bits and the sad bits? Instead of answering, I pretend I didn’t hear my little sister’s question.
Chapter 19
Miss Cheng leads Mum and Dad out of the canteen and towards the front door. It looks like our tour is over, but there’s somewhere Miss Cheng hasn’t shown us, somewhere important.
I pull Min’s arm and, after making sure there’s no one around, I whisper, “Min, ask if we can visit the garden. I really need to see it.”
“The garden? OK,” she says, before darting down the corridor to shout to Mum and Dad.
Miss Cheng looks surprised at Min’s request, but she says, “Of course. Follow me, please.”
The garden is at the back of the orphanage and it’s a lot smaller than I remember. There are a few neat flower beds and a bench in the shade under the old cherry tree. The tree is big – the height of a double-decker bus – and its branches sway in the gentle breeze, dropping pale pink blossom as thin as tissue paper onto the grass. The scent is faint and sweet, like summer. As I breathe it in, what happened here comes back to me in vivid detail…
Puggy’s bark.
The tree.
Min.
Falling.
Blood.
I feel like I’m about to faint.
“You’re very pale, pet. Sit down for a second,” Mum says, gesturing at the bench. “You may be a bit dehydrated. There’s water in the car. Let me just tell your dad where we’re going.” As she walks off to talk to Dad, I notice that Min is staring at me with a funny look in her eyes. She points at the tree, at both of us and then at the ground. She remembers.
I nod slowly, feeling all tight inside. But she doesn’t look angry, just a little sad.
Back in the car, I’m gulping down the deliciously cool water from a bottle that Mum found in the special fridge built into the back of the front passenger seat. She gives another bottle to Min, who takes a few sips. Dad stayed to talk to Miss Cheng some more.
“Min, stop playing with the water,” Mum says as Min starts flicking water on her face. “I’ll be back in a second, girls. Don’t leave the car, OK? Stay right here.”
“As if we’re going to leave the air conditioning,” Min says, fanning herself. “It’s boiling out there.” As soon as Mum’s gone, she twists the cap back on her bottle and flops down against the seat. “So tell me about the day we fell out of the cherry tree.”
I have to tell Min, it’s time. It’s part of her story too and she deserves to know the truth. I take a deep breath and then begin. “We were out in the courtyard playing one day and I heard a dog yapping in the street behind the back wall. It sounded just like Puggy – all squeaky and high-pitched.”
“Our pet dog?” Min asks.
“Yes. When Papa died, Mama Wei looked after Puggy. I was so sure it was him that I stood on top of the bench in the courtyard so I could climb into the tree and catch a glimpse of him. I missed him so much! But you followed me. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to get into the lower branches. And then you … you fell onto the bench and then the grass.”
“Ouch!” Min winces. “I hurt my arm, didn’t I?”
“Yes! When I saw you lying there on the grass, not moving, I panicked. I tried to climb down too quickly and I fell too. I knocked myself out. When I woke up, you were gone.”
“Where?”
“They’d only taken you to the hospital. You had concussion and a broken arm. But I didn’t know that at the time. I was so scared. I thought they’d taken you away because I was a bad sister and hadn’t looked after you properly. I’m so sorry you fell – it was all my fault. I was supposed to be looking after you.”
“You didn’t make me climb the tree,” Min says. “Was it Puggy? On the street, I mean.”
I shake my head. “No. It was some other dog.” Then I ask her, “When did you start remembering about the accident?”
“Just when I saw the tree. Do Mum and Dad know about me falling and everything?”
“No,” I say. “They think you broke your arm in the playground. I’ve never told them. I didn’t want them to think I was a rubbish sister and that I couldn’t look after you. I promised Mama before
she died that I’d always take care of you, no matter what.” But it’s Min who looks after me. Like she said yesterday, she does everything for me – and what do I do for her?
Min shrugs. “It doesn’t matter about the tree, Sunny. It was an accident. But I want you to start telling me stuff. I want to know about our life in China. Will you tell me about Papa and Mama? And Puggy? All the stories you remember. It didn’t mean anything to me before, but now that we’ve been here it’s different.”
“I’ll tell you everything I can remember, I promise,” I say. “And I have some things to show you too, from our old life.”
She snuggles against me. “Thanks, Sunny.”
I’ve just started telling her how clever and kind Mama was when Mum opens the door and climbs in. “Dad’s just getting directions to your old apartment from Miss Cheng,” she says. “He’ll be here in a second. You two look very cosy. It’s lovely and cool in here, isn’t it? Thank goodness for air conditioning. Are you feeling a bit better, Sunny?”
I nod.
“Good.” Mum leans back into the seat and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she says, “The adoption people never told us about you girls being separated at night here, Sunny. It must have been hard. I know that staying with Min means everything to you.”
My numbness cracks and suddenly I start to cry, big hulking sobs that come out of nowhere. It’s been such an overwhelming day. Sad and happy and sad again.
“Sunny,” Mum says. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Come here to me.” Mum puts her arms around me and holds me tight.
She’s still holding me when Dad gets into the car. He must read in my expression that I don’t want a fuss, though, because he doesn’t ask me if I’m all right. Instead he says, “According to Miss Cheng, the building your family used to live in isn’t there any more – but would you like to see the area? Or would you prefer to go back to the hotel? It’s up to you.”
“We’d like to see the area together,” Min says. “Isn’t that right, Sunny?”
I nod.
Apart from the tower block – there’s a shopping arcade there now – the area is as I remember it. Hand in hand with Min, I show her the playground in the park where we used to play, the temple we used to visit with Mama Wei with its red silk lanterns and sweet incense, and the local dried-seafood shop with the grey cats slinking outside. As we walk around our old neighbourhood, the memories come back thick and fast.
When Dad takes Min inside a shop to buy ice creams, Mum asks, “Do you remember this shop?”
Although we’re on a public street and there are lots of people around, I open my mouth, determined to answer her with a simple “Yes”. But as I form the shape of the word with my lips, I know it’s impossible. I can’t force the sound out, even as a whisper. That familiar icy anxious feeling creeps over my body. I swallow and try again. This time it’s even worse. My throat is so tight I can barely breathe. My heart sinks. Yet again all my prayers and wishes have come to nothing.
So I give up and nod at her instead.
Chapter 20
The journey home to Little Bird seems much longer than the journey over. After the nervousness and the excitement of the week, everything drags: the taxi drive to Hong Kong airport, waiting in the departure lounge, the thirteen-hour flight to London. Even though we have the seats that turn into beds again, I only manage to sleep for a few hours. For the rest of the flight I just lie there, thinking.
This time I’m beside Min. When we got on to the aeroplane, she asked if we could sit together. Mum sounded a little surprised when she said, “Yes, of course.”
Min’s asleep now, as are Mum and Dad, so I grab my sketchbook out of my rucksack and start to draw the next scene in my Lotus Flower and Cherry Blossom story. Lotus Flower is searching the orphanage for her little sister, Cherry Blossom. Strange creatures peep at her through the bars of the cots in a large room. At first glance they look like human babies, but they’re not. Some have huge googly eyes and swirling tentacles, like an octopus, instead of hands, others have furry bodies like cats, or are covered in giant fish scales. They don’t talk – they bark or hiss or meow. But Lotus Flower isn’t scared. She can see that the monster babies are just as sad and lonely as she is. She touches each one, stroking their heads until they purr or coo. Then she continues her search for Cherry Blossom.
“What are they?” Min has woken up and is peering at my drawings.
I flick to the back of my sketchbook where there is a spare page and write, “Monster babies. It’s part of my Lotus Flower story. I’ll show you when it’s finished.” I can’t talk on the aeroplane. Most of the passengers are asleep, but the air steward might hear me.
“OK,” she says. “They look scary but kind of cute.” She yawns. “I’m all tired and stiff.”
“Go back to sleep then,” I write.
She ignores me. “Sunny, are you glad we went to China?”
I think about this for a second and then nod. It doesn’t seem to have helped with my anxiety or my problem with speaking in public. And it was hard, because it reminded me of what we’d both lost. But it also reminded me of happy times: going shopping with Mama, visiting the temple with Mama Wei, playing with Puggy. And the nicest thing of all was sharing some of my memories with Min. I’ve always felt close to her – she’s my only sister after all – but now I feel super close, like we’re two peanuts in one shell. I know she’d never admit it, but I think she feels the same way.
“Very glad,” I write.
“Me too,” she says. “Sunny, can I share your bed?”
I smile and she climbs in next to me, twisting around until her little body is curled against my back.
“Night, Sunny,” she whispers.
Night, Min Yen, I say in my head.
Chapter 21
The Friday after we get back to Little Bird, I’m drawing more of my Lotus Flower comic when I hear voices outside. I peer out of the arrow-slit window. It’s Mum and Rosie. Mum collected her off the ferry. Even though I like Rosie, the thought of what’s ahead makes me nervous. She’s here to try another “sliding in” session, but I’m not in the mood. I’m still tired from the trip to China.
Although things have pretty much gone back to normal, there is one thing that is completely different – Min. Every day she asks me new questions about Papa and Mama. I haven’t shown her the photos yet. I know it’s selfish, but I want to keep them to myself for a few more days. I’ve decided I’ll show her at the weekend, on Sunday maybe.
Rosie and Mum are in the kitchen now. I can hear their voices bubbling up through the cracks in the floor. I put down my sketchbook and roll back the rug so that I can see them and hear what they’re saying. Mum is standing in her usual place – leaning against the kitchen counter – and Rosie is sitting on the edge of the table. Dad’s there too.
While Mum is making coffee, Rosie asks, “So how did the China trip go?”
“It was really a special family holiday,” Mum says. “The girls got to see the orphanage and the area they once lived in, which is important. But…” She falters. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing. I guess … I think we were just hoping for too much.”
“What were you hoping for?” Rosie asks.
“For some … change in Sunny, I suppose,” Dad says. “We thought that if we visited the orphanage and were able to fill in some of the gaps in Sunny’s memory of the place, then it might help her somehow.”
“We found out they had to sleep in different rooms at the orphanage,” Mum adds. “Maybe that contributed to Sunny feeling so vulnerable and worried. Apparently, Sunny used to sneak into Min’s room and sleep on the floor, holding her hand – isn’t that sweet? She clearly couldn’t bear to be separated from her.”
“That is very sweet,” Rosie says. “They’re obviously incredibly close.”
Dad sighs. “I really hoped the trip might change things for Sunny. You know, help her put the past behind her and kick-start her into action i
n some way. I got the feeling Sunny thought so too. On the afternoon of the day we visited the orphanage, she tried to speak to Nadia – didn’t she, darling? It was on a public street.”
Rosie leans forward. “Really? What happened?”
“Nothing – she couldn’t get the words out,” Dad says.
“She did try, though,” Mum adds. “That’s the important thing. We need to be patient, Smiles.”
“Interesting,” Rosie says. “And you’re right, Nadia – it’s great she tried. It means the desire is there. But I’m afraid there are rarely miracles when it comes to anxiety disorders. I did warn you not to look for a quick fix, Smiles.”
“I know,” Dad says. “I’m an impatient kind of person. I’m not good at waiting. And the whole thing gets to me sometimes. Why is this happening to Sunny? It’s not fair. She’s been through so much already and she’s such a great kid. I guess I just want to jump in and fix things for her.”
“I understand your frustration,” Rosie says. “You love her and you want her to be happy. Let’s give the sliding in a few more weeks. I really do think it’s the best way forward at this point. It’s been successful with lots of other children I’ve worked with. Hopefully it will help Sunny too.”
I roll the rug back over the crack in the floor then, and sit on the sofa. Poor Mum and Dad. I hate disappointing them all the time. I’ll have to try really hard today with Rosie. I want to make them proud of me.
The session with Rosie starts off OK. Mum and Rosie chat at the kitchen table about the China trip, mainly the sightseeing stuff: Kowloon, The Peak, the food, the shops. Goldie is under the table and Rosie reaches down to pet him. Then Rosie turns to me and asks, “Was it strange being back in China, Sunny?”
I nod.
“Did you recognize the streets where you used to live?”
I give a second nod.
“What about the orphanage? Did you remember that, too?”
